


Two Halves, Different Whole

by Tashilover



Category: Endeavour
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Forced Kissing, evil twin brother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-04-16 05:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4613712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thursday has a twin brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Morse never had much in ways of an appetite. Even as a boy he only ate enough to fill his belly. The few times when he's presented with food he greatly enjoyed- fried fish, beef stew, and lamb- he sometimes indulged in a second plate. It probably didn't help he was quite lazy when it came to preparing meals.

He was in the middle of boiling two eggs to have with toast when he heard the knock on his door. He glanced over his shoulder, confused on who it could be. Monica was still at work, and Jakes had the Jaguar today.

Morse lowered the heat on his boiling water, then went to answer the door.

He was surprised to see it was Thursday. "Sir? What are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighbourhood," Thursday said. His voice sounded a bit thick. "Can I come in?"

Morse moved aside. As Thursday brushed past him, several odd things stood out.

First of all, Thursday was wearing an old suit. The man prided himself on having crisp, clean suits, and the one he wore was wrinkled, greying in colour, and the areas around the elbows of his coat were worn thin. He also didn't shave this morning, his chin and neck rough from growing stubble. Lastly, he smelled differently. For some odd reason, Thursday chose to smoke a different brand of tobacco today.

"Are you alright?" Morse asked, closing the door behind him. "You seem a bit... off."

"Mmhmm? Oh, I'm fine... I'm just... fine."

Thursday was observing Morse's flat like he's never seen it before, looking around the corners, picking up and observing a few trinkets sitting on furniture. "Are you alone?"

"Uh... sir, what's going on?"

He didn't answer immediately, still observing the flat. After he glanced quickly into the bedroom, he turned to Morse. "It's nothing, Morse. I just came to a conclusion this morning."

"Yes?"

"I like you."

Morse stifled a laugh. Bemused, he said, "Oh... um, I like you too-"

"No, Morse," Thursday said, coming closer. He moved forward, his walk almost predatory, and suddenly Morse felt the urge to step back. He kept moving back until the back of his thighs struck the edge of his dinner table, shifting the dishes on top. He glanced back briefly, and when he looked forward, Thursday was only an inch away from his face. "No," he said again. "I mean, I _like_ you."

Panic rose in Morse, speeding up his heart rate. He licked his lips and tried to speak. "Sir, I-"

That's when Thursday swooped down and kissed him.

Morse gave off a startled scream, muffled by Thursday's mouth. Thursday's arms came around him, one hand on his back, another on the back of his head, keeping him still. Morse brought up his arms and grabbed the thick clothe of Thursday's coat, trying pathetically to pull him off. The material was too thick to grasp properly. His fingers kept slipping. He thought about biting him, scratching at his face, but couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't want to harm Thursday, didn't want to hurt him.

He squealed when a tongue slithered into his mouth, tasting him.

Finally Morse planted his palms flat against Thursday's shoulders and shoved him back. The inspector stumbled away, surprised by Morse's strength. He stepped forward again, hunger dancing in his eyes, and Morse moved away, throwing up his arms in defense. "Stop!" he said. "Are... are you drunk?"

As much as Thursday enjoyed a good whiskey or spirit, he always maintained self-control, refusing to drink more than a single pint. He said he didn't want to come home to Win drunk, didn't want to go way of the bottle like a few men he knew in his younger days. it was always best to be left wanting.

Besides, he didn't _taste_ like alcohol.

Thursday took a moment to bring his hand up, wiping the smear of salivia from the side of his mouth. "Maybe... maybe I am drunk," he said thoughtfully. "I should leave."

"Sir-" Morse started, stepping forward. He didn't know what to say, what to do. Thursday didn't wait to find out. He quickly left the small flat, not giving Morse another look.

Once he was gone, Morse cupped a hand over his own mouth, horrified of what just happened. He pulled his hand away suddenly, disgusted to find his whole mouth and chin was wet. He groaned and swiftly went to the loo to wash his face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Morse didn't know what to do when he got into work that day. He hasn't felt that shaken since he was teenager. He wanted to run away, to hide, and for a few minutes he played with the idea of calling in sick. He didn't; his professionalism overtook his shock.

He still got into the precinct fifteen minutes late, though. As he pulled off his coat, he was wishing for his desk to keep him busy all day. Thefts, petty arguments, anything to keep his mind off of this morning and away from Thursday.

"About time you got in," Jakes said, dumping a handful of files upon Morse's desk. "Thursday wants to see you. Better have a good excuse."

Morse took an extra five minutes to look over the files. Surely Thursday could forgive him for wanting to put this off. If the man wanted to apologize, Morse would let him.

Forgiveness however... Morse wasn't sure that was something he could do. Drunk or not, it still didn't change the fact their relationship was now different. Stained. Thursday had _forced_ himself on someone as young as his daughter. There was no going back from that.

"You're late," Thursday said as soon as Morse closed the office door behind him. "Any reason why?"

He leaned back in his chair, waiting for an answer.

Anger spread through Morse, starting from his back and growing outwards to his chest. Since this morning Thursday had shaved and changed his clothes. How could he sit there so casually, expecting an answer he already knew?

"You know why," Morse spat out. He was trembling, his fists shaking at his side. he thought he could be rational about this, calm and understanding. Maybe if Thursday showed an ounce of being apologetic, perhaps Morse could've handled this better.

"Morse?" Thursday said, confused. He began to rise from his chair. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"

"Am **_I_** sick? You have the gall to ask me that after what you did this morning?"

"What _I_ did? Morse, what-?"

He stopped in mid-sentence. Something occurred to him, Morse could see it in his face. "What happened this morning?" He asked carefully.

"I..." This was odd, why was he asking it like that? "You came to my flat..."

" _Did I now?_ What else did I do?"

He was clearly fishing for something. Morse hesitated, trying to figure it out, his whole body screaming at him to leave because this was confusing him, making him feel unsafe. "Sir..."

Thursday's face darkened. "What did he do to you?"

Jesus, fuck. " _He_?"

"That motherfucker," Thursday groaned, leaning over his desk as if in pain. "That fucking piece of shit... Morse, I... I have a twin brother."

Something inside of Morse suddenly broke. He swore he could feel his chest cave in. "Twin brother?"

"I broke ties with him years ago. He's always been a sniveling little shit. I thought I would never have to see him again... Morse, you're sweating like a pig."

Morse's heart was racing. It was pounding heavily in his chest, rattling his ribcage. He'd been so ready to crucify Thursday, to call him a deviant, to accept the fact that this person whom Morse considered a mentor and friend was a liar and fraud-

"Morse..."

Thursday had already come round the desk, coming towards him, and Morse didn't even see him move-

The constable flinched back, slamming into the door and blinds behind him, rattling them.

Thursday stopped in his tracks, his eyes shifting. The sudden noise must've grabbed the attention from those outside because Thursday made a cut-off motion to someone. _Mind your own business._

"I'm fine," Morse said, weakly. His head was swimming, making him dizzy. It didn't help he skipped breakfast this morning. His empty stomach was gurgling painfully, reminding him skipping meals was going to cost him in the long run. And yet through it all, relief poured down upon him in buckets.

 _Twin_. A man wearing Thursday's face and voice was the one who kissed him. God, it should've been so obvious. Morse knew that man dressed differently, spoke differently, smelled differently. There was no need to hesitate, he should've broken that man's jaw.

"Morse," Thursday said, grabbing his attention. "What did he do to you?"


	2. Chapter 2

Morse felt like he was being punished for an unknown offense. He stewed irritably for the next couple hours as he slogged through the papers of General Duties, reading files after file on misdemeanors and petty crimes.

The twins Fred and Maurice. Morse knew he had no grounds to comment, but what kind of parents decide to name a pair of twins Fred and _Maurice_?

It didn't take a genius to track down Morse's name and address. But now the man also knew what the inside of Morse's flat looked like, what Morse looked like when he was barely dressed in the morning, what he ate for breakfast-

-knew what he tasted like, felt like, smelled like-

Morse couldn't bring himself to tell Thursday what Maurice had done. It was... shameful. Embarrassing. Instead, he said Maurice spoke crude things and left it at that.

Thursday obviously didn't believe him, but didn't push the issue.

This was driving Morse crazy. Why did Maurice kiss him? Did he do it deframe Thursday? If it was to blackmail him, Maurice chose a pretty obtuse way of doing it. Morse had no illusions of his popularity around the station. He knew he could be a pretentious little shit, but he backed it up by working harder than anyone else. However if something happened to him, only less than a handful of people here would come to his rescue. Thursday certainly, Strange probably. Jakes... Morse had no idea. Either way, it still didn't change the fact his influence on the station was the bare minimum. If Maurice wanted to hurt Thursday's career, he did it the wrong way.

If not to ruin his career, then what? For laughs?

When it was time to go home and the last of the files were put away, Morse noticed from the corner of his eye Thursday waiting for him by the door. He had his hat and coat draped across his arm, one hand fiddling with a button anxiously. Shit, he wanted to talk. Might as well get over it.

Morse grabbed his coat and wordlessly, both of them walked outside. The moment they got into the Jaguar, Thursday turned in his seat and said, "I want to know what Maurice did to you."

"I want to know what he did to _you_ ," Morse challenged back.

"He assaulted Win."

Morse jerked, not expecting that at all. He turned to face his friend, mouth gaping. "What?"

Untold fury burned behind Thursday's eyes. When he spoke he bared his teeth. "This happened before Joan was born. I came home and he was... he was trying to... I pulled him off of her and I nearly killed him right there. Win stopped me and Maurice took off. That's the last time I saw him."

Oh God, Win. Morse could only imagine what it was like, to be assaulted by someone who had the face of your husband. What kind of the nightmares did that bring, to see your attacker every day, constantly fighting against natural instinct to shy away from gentle touches? Win had borne Thursday two children, so clearly she knew the difference, but still...

"I ask again," said Thursday. "What did he do to you?"

Morse wondered if Thursday was considering how badly he was going to hurt Maurice depending on the level of assault. Suddenly Morse was glad Maurice only kissed him. He was sure if it had gone further, Thursday would hunt his brother down and shoot him like a dog.

"Morse-"

"He kissed me."

Good lord, Morse couldn't even look at him. The embarrassment and shame felt worse than actual assault.

Thursday's cheeks tightened. "Anything else?"

"He stopped when I asked him to." Not entirely true, but Morse was not going to have Thursday arrested for murder for simply defending his _honour_.

"Did he say why he was there?"

 _I like you_. "No."

"Did he hurt you?"

"He mostly startled me. I thought..."

"He was me."

"Yes."

"Are you scared of me now?"

Morse said startled, not scared. Considering his reactions back at the office, it was not a farfetched conclusion to come to. "No," he said, which was the truth. "I knew something about him was different, but I chose to ignore them."

"Do not," Thursday bit out. "Blame yourself for not noticing. Here, I'm going to show you something."

He started to loosen his tie. "It's near my shoulder," he said, noticing Morse's confused look. Once he was done, he pulled down his shirt low enough to reveal a curved, rectangular white scar sitting below his collar bone. "Got it during the war. A hot casing fell down my uniform and I was unable to fish it out in time."

Ah. "I assume your brother doesn't have this."

"If you need a physical confirmation it's me, you can always ask me to show you the scar. Win... she needs to see this every night."

Even after all this time? Win probably didn't need to ask at this point. He would show her the scar right before bed, a nightly ritual as routine as brushing your teeth. Still, what an awful conversation to have at one point. Please show me your scar so I know you're not your rapist brother?

It sounded awful in his head, but Morse was glad to know as well. "Thank you, sir."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Forced kiss, dub-con, mentions of past assault and fucked-up logic

The next time Morse saw Maurice was two weeks later. Morse had spent the day window shopping, wondering what to buy Monica for her birthday. He eventually decided on a pair of lovely blue lace gloves. He thought they would look great against her skin.

After having them wrapped in a delicate small box, he idly walked the streets, feeling slight peckish. Should he hold off his hunger until he got closer to home, or risk one of these restaurants? If he paid good money for a crap meal, he was going to be irritated for the rest of the day.

He was considering a small cafe when Maurice suddenly walked out of a tobacco shop a few buildings down.

Immediately Morse ducked down and dashed behind a park car on the kerb. He squatted down, and carefully peered up through the car's windows.

He didn't need a scar to know it was Maurice. The man was sporting a full beard and the tobacco store he walked out of didn't carry Thursday's brand.

Morse had a fleeting thought of relief, glad to know Thursday didn't care for beards. It would've made his face look fat.

Maurice thankfully had not spotted him. He was too busy unwrapping a new packet of cigarettes, patting one out and putting it in his mouth. He only looked up once in Morse's direction as he placed away the packet and searched his pockets for a lighter. Morse had already ducked away at this point and when he looked back up again, Maurice was walking down the street in the opposite direction, cigarette smoke trailing behind him like a jet stream.

To follow or not to follow? Morse had no plans to arrest him. As much as he would enjoy seeing Maurice behind bars, he wanted the news of the assault made public even less. It was humiliating enough Thursday knew.

But more than ever, Morse wanted to know why Maurice had done it. In the past two weeks, there have been no threats made against Morse or Thursday. So unless Maurice was taking his sweet time, Morse had no idea why Maurice came to his home, pretended he was Thursday and kissed him.

Morse shoved Monica's gift box into his pocket, crushing the pretty bow on top. He stood up from behind the car, following Maurice quietly.

He kept a reasonable distance, pausing every few moments if he felt he was getting too close. So far Maurice showed no sign of where he was going. He idly smoked his cigarette, ignoring all the shops and restaurants he passed. Perhaps the only reason he came into town was for smokes.

Morse only knew where the bus stops were, he was not familiar with the streets. It would be moronic to track a person and then get lost himself. He took his eyes off Maurice only for a second to read and memorize a street sign, and when he looked back in Maurice's direction, he was gone.

Fuck. Morse immediately picked up speed, his gaze roaming the entire area. Did Maurice get into a cab? There were no cabs in sight. He probably walked into a shop, but most of the shops here were women's clothing boutiques-

"Is there a reason why you're following me, officer?"

Morse jumped in alarm and turned around, stepping back so quickly he nearly fell over the kerb. Maurice was leaning against the corner wall, puffing the last dregs of his cigarette. He was getting ash on his beard. As soon as he was done with that one, he tossed it down, and lit up another one.

How embarrassing. Morse lost him because he _turned a corner._

They were still in public, plenty of people walking the streets. Staying in full view of others was the safest option, but Morse didn't want to have this conversation where they could easily be overheard. "I want to talk to you," he said. He motioned with his head towards a small picnic area.

"I'm not under arrest?"

"I'm not on duty today," Morse said.

He didn't move until Maurice started walking. He was not going to walk in front, leaving his back exposed. This was going to be done on his terms.

The only drawback to this was Morse was downwind and every time Maurice took a puff from his cigarette, the resulting smoke splashed Morse's face. He was going to reek of smoke by the time he got home.

Once they were well into the picnic area and few very people were present, Morse halted and said, "This is far enough."

"Hmmm... well now," Maurice said. "What is it that you wanted to talk about?"

"You know why."

"No, I don't. Tell me.

"I want to know why you did it."

"Did what?"

"You know."

"You have to be specific. Tell me what it is I did."

This was a game to him, all a fucking game. Even through the beard, there was a sly little smirk on his lips.

After a beat and there was still no response, Maurice said, "Fine then. I guess this conversation's over."

He mockingly turned to leave.

Morse gritted his teeth. "I want to know why you kissed me," he bit out.

"Ah... that..." Maurice turned back to face him. "I was trying to help out Freddy."

Morse jerked as if slapped. "What?"

Maurice took this moment to eye Morse, his gaze roaming over his body slowly. "I know how he looks at you," he said. "I've seen that look before. I know he _likes_ you."

He was going to be sick. Morse was going to be sick and he still had to catch a bus ride home. "You will not spread lies about Inspector Thursday," Morse said, his lip curling into a snarl. "You will watch your mouth."

"I'm telling the truth. You're a bit young, I admit, but he's always had such _queer_ tastes. I thought, if I can get Fred to admit his feelings, he'll be happier for it."

"That's sick. Inspector Thursday is my superior officer and my friend, he would never-"

"Yes, HE would never. He's too noble for that. _I_ , however, am more than glad to step up and help him."

"What evidence do you have-"

"He's my twin brother, I know his preferences, I know how he acts. And you, oh boy, you practically check off every box he has on his sheet."

He enunciated _sheet_ with a click of his tongue. Morse shuddered.

"You're decently good-looking," Maurice continued. "You're smart. You're trustworthy, something he values very highly. You're slightly damaged, which I'm sure he relates to."

"How long have you been _spying_ on us?"

"Don't act as if I treat this as my day job. I check up on Freddy once in a while, to see how he's doing. See if he's happy. He's been down in the dumps since Mickey died-"

"He saw Carter like a _son_ ," Morse hissed.

"And now that he has a son, he sees you in a much different light."

Morse didn't want to listen to this anymore. Already the seeds of doubt was being sprouted into his head, questioning if what Maurice was saying was true.

It wouldn't be the first time an older man took interest in Morse.

There was a professor back in uni whose gaze lingered too long, his touches on a sly inappropriate. He never took it any further than that, but the rumours circulating about him kept Morse from ever volunteering to stay after class to help clean.

Something popped into Morse's thoughts. "Is that why you attacked Mrs. Thursday? Because you thought it would _improve their relationship?"_

"Well it worked, didn't it? He married her."

"You traumatized her! She needs confirmation every night that the man she goes to bed with is not you!"

"And she loves him so much more for it. Her hero! He's such a gentle soul, my brother."

He's insane. Murderers killed for passion, money or revenge. Others committed crimes out of anger, desperation or spite. Very few ever strayed from that set formula. Maurice looked so fucking proud of himself, like he discovered the true answer to the universe.

Morse had enough of this. If he listened to any more, his ears were going to bleed. "You're sick," he said. "You stay away from Inspector Thursday. You stay away from me. If I ever see you again, I will arrest you."

He turned to leave when Maurice suddenly said, "Oh, and one last thing..."

He took one final huff of his cigarette and tossed down into the wet grass.

In the next instance, he suddenly crowded Morse against a tree, grasping his face, and pressing his lips to his. Morse immediately pushed him away, twisted his head and starting coughing out the cigarette smoke Maurice breathed into his mouth.

By the time he stopped hacking up a lung, Maurice had already left.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Morse remembered he left Monica's gift in his pocket, he had already washed his coat. He pulled the soggy, water-logged box out of his newly blue-dyed pocket and wasn't surprised to find the gloves destroyed under the mess.

He ended up giving Monica a book.

 

 

 

 

 

Other priorities took precedent. A series of house robberies demanded Morse's attention over into the next month, to which he was grateful for. It was stupid work, but it allowed him to focus his energies elsewhere. He didn't want to think of Maurice, didn't want to give him more attention than he deserved.

The days were getting warmer. It was still cold enough to wear a coat, though many were forgoing their winter clothes as the days went by. It was nice to see the beginnings of Spring blossoming in the trees. Morse had no preference of season. He enjoyed cold weather and warm just the same. He was glad to see to see the change, though. Things were getting back to normal.

 

 

 

 

 

He changed his mind. He wanted Winter to come back. To come back NOW.

Thursday climbed into the passenger seat, groaning in distaste. "I feel like I'm melting," he complained. A tired, sweaty hand reached up and loosened his tie. That small action alone drained him and he slumped against the Jaguar's seats, grunting. Even with the windows rolled down, it was uncomfortably humid.

Morse was faring no better. The natural curliness of his hair straightened by the weight of his sweat, and it flopped down, sticking to his neck. He suddenly envied DeBryn who was probably enjoying the coolness of the mortuary.

Thursday continued to undo the buttons of his shirt, tugging it open unhappily.

"May I see the scar?"

It's been nearly four months since Thursday's reveal of his scar. Morse has never asked about it, and it wasn't until now he suddenly felt the urge to see.

Thursday was a little surprised by the request, but pulled down his sweat-covered shirt to show. Morse scooted in closer to see. There it was, right below the collar bone was the small burnt patch of skin. Morse nodded in satisfaction and moved back. He ran a hand over his sweaty face.

"Did something happen?" Thursday asked. He left the tie and buttons undone.

"No," Morse huffed. It wasn't a complete lie. He has not forgiven Maurice, but at least now he could spend a whole day without thinking about him. Holding onto such anger was making him sick.

However there were still days in which Maurice's voice invaded Morse's thoughts.

_He likes you._

_I've seen the way he looks at you._

_You're broken._

He thought about asking Thrusday what Maurice meant, if there was any truth to it. He knew once he did, their relationship would change forever.

\- it already changed. His twin brother had kissed him, forcing Thursday to reveal a battle scar only reserved for his wife-

"Sir," Morse began. "Do you have any idea why Maurice did what he did? Has he ever given you a reason?"

Thursday sneered. "No. I don't know why Maurice attacked Win. I don't know why he attacked you. Maybe he's trying to get back at me for something. A childhood prank, perhaps."

"... would you want to know?"

If Thursday said yes, Morse would tell him. He had that right. Morse had wanted to know. He regretted it, and he had no one to blame but himself. He's the one who searched out for Maurice to ask him for details. At least this way Thursday had a choice in the matter.

"Nothing," Thursday spat out. " _Nothing_ on this god-given earth would ever explain why Maurice attacked my wife and my bagman. I don't want to hear Maurice's insane reasoning behind it. If I ever see him again-"

He cut off when a droplet of sweat rolled down his forehead and landed in his eye. He grunted, and said, "Good lord, we're going to melt if we continue sitting here. Let's get out of here."

He turned on the car and with a roar of the engine, Thursday took off down the street. Morse leaned back into the uncomfortable warmth of his seat, angling his head so the warm air from the window blew past his face. In the back of his mind, he took Maurice's dirty little secret and buried it away forever.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: attempted rape

Morse had to fight down the urge to knock on the door till it opened. He used to do it as a child and it annoyed his mother to no end. "Its not polite!" She would say. Morse always insisted it made the homeowners answer the door faster. Right now he wanted to give into that urge. He was practically dancing on his toes, he was so eager. In his right hand he held files that undeniably proved Dennis Hargrove, a local business man, has been responsible for at least twelve deaths in the past fourteen years.

It was mere _chance_ Morse managed to find the connection between them all. He needed to show Thursday. There was a chance nobody was home. It was a Sunday and by now Morse knew their routines. Mrs. Thursday and Joan liked to go off and get their hair done after church. Sam often went out with friends, and Thursday usually strayed to the local pub to talk with friends.

Morse almost turned away, feeling guilty to interude on Thursday's day off, when the front door opened.

"Oh, Morse," said Sam, surprised. "Dad didn't say he was expecting you."

Oh good, he was home. "I won't be here for long, I need to confirm something with him. Are you going somewhere?"

Sam gave off a toothy grin as he stepped out of the house. His hair was combed differently than his usual style, he was wearing a nice dress shirt, and he was also wearing cologne. Perhaps a bit too much. "I have a date," he said in a sing-song voice. "I'm meeting her in a few minutes."

Morse grinned back, Sam's enthusiasm rubbing off. But he couldn't help but add, "If I can give one piece of advice... wash off some of that cologne. You don't want to overwhelm her."

"What?" Sam sniffed his shirt. "It's not that strong."

"Well, I gave my advice. It's your choice if you want to follow through. Good luck on your date."

Morse watched him go, then quickly wiped his feet before entering the house. Once inside, he immediately wrinkled his nose. Phew, Sam really caked on that cologne. "Inspector Thursday?"

"Morse?" Thursday walked out from the living room. He was dressed so casually, like he planned to do nothing all day. "Ah, I was hoping you were Sam, coming back to wash off his wrists. He's going to suffocate his date, I fear."

"I have something to show you. I have evidence that proves Hargrove's guilt."

"You can't even take one day off, can you? I guess I can't stop you. Go, sit, I'm going to make us some tea."

"That's all right, sir. I'm not thirsty."

"You're going to talk for a very long time, I can tell. Go, sit."

Morse hurried to the living room and started clearing out a space on the table in front of the couch. His heart was beating in glee, so proud of himself. After months of feeling like a complete fool, it was nice to have this victory. He spread the photos and underlined newspapers articles across the table, shifting them accordingly. In the background he could hear Thursday clinking tea cups together.

By the time Thursday finally walked into the living room with two cups of tea, Morse was idly correcting the pages to sit perfectly straight. He was going to be patient, he was going to wait till Thursday sat down. Sit down, sit down, sit down-

"Here," Thursday passed over a cup. Morse took and sat it down to the side, untouched. "Morse," Thursday said, unimpressed. "Drink your tea. You look like you're about to vibrate out of your suit."

 _For the love of..._ Morse picked up his tea cup and quickly gulped it down, ignoring the burn on his tongue and throat. He was going to regret this later, but he needed to speak. NOW. "Look, sir, this is what I found. This first article here dates back to 1959, and it mentions Hargrove here..."

"Alright..." Thursday leaned in closer to see. "Go on..."

Everything came out in a rush. Morse couldn't help it. The moment he found the connection, it was like an adrenaline high to him. The crime was so utterly perfect, he felt a little guilty for admiring its brillancy. However, dismantilating it felt even better; like a kid knocking down a giant card tower.

As he spoke, Morse would occasionally look over to Thursday to guage his reaction. Thursday has never once dismissed him or made fun of his idea. He always listened before asking questions, and yet Morse noted he appeared... uninterested.

Thursday's eyes were on the evidence, but they were unfocused, wandering aimlessly across the table. He kept idly drinking his tea, sipping it slowly, even going so far to tap the edge of the tea cup against his teeth. The more Morse looked over, the more disinterested Thursday seemed.

Was Thursday irked because Morse intruded loudly into his home? Was there something wrong with the evidence?

Finally Thursday reached up and pulled open his shirt to scratch at an itch.

The shirt folded, and when Thursday moved closer towards the table, the fold flared open, showing off perfect, unmarked skin.

Suddenly everything went very, very still. A creeping panic rose up in Morse's spine, threatening to snap.

Sam was here only less than a few minutes ago, Morse never considered Maurice would infiltrate Thursday's residence, especially not when his children were still home. But here he was, wearing Thursday's clothing, sitting on his couch.

"Morse?" Maurice asked. "Are you alright?"

"Um... yes," Morse said. He was fighting to stay calm. Make an excuse, leave, get out of the house. "Actually, Sam's cologne is getting to my head. I think I need some fresh air..."

He stood up. And then immediately flopped back down upon the couch. "What?"

It was like someone zapped the energy right out of him. His head was swimming, his movements slow and sluggish. He couldn't find the strength to get back up. "Did..." Even speaking was difficult, every word fought to be said. "Did you drug my tea?"

Maurice ignored his question. He was busy inspecting himself, considering the cuffs, patting the front pockets. "What were you looking at?" He said, frowning. "You saw something that gave me away."

Oh god, oh fuck. Morse struggled to sit up, his body threatening to collapse again. He'll crawl if he had to. He bent forward, allowing the weight of his body to propel himself off the couch. He crashed against the table, knocking over the papers and fell to the carpeted floor with a muted thud.

He landed face down, and for a moment he thought he lost consciousness. He was awake, he was still here. He tried to drag himself forward, one arm reaching out.

"Tsk, tsk," Maurice said in a exaggerated manner. He reached down, grabbed Morse by the back of his shirt and hauled him up, throwing him back onto the couch. "That's rude."

"No..." Morse gritted his teeth, trying to sit back up. He managed to get a few inches off the couch before his body gave out again and flopped back down. "No, don't do this...!"

"Sorry, Morse." Maurice closed the door to the room. "But my brother comes first."

"He doesn't want this! He told me...!"

"Fred barely knows what he wants for himself. He wanted to marry Win, but didn't have the guts to go through with it until I did something about it. He wants you, but he'll do the noble thing and let you go. A relationship must be tested before moving forward. Sometimes things have to _break_ before they're repaired."

"You're insane. You're..." He managed to sit back up, but with one sudden harsh tap from Maurice, Morse was back down, gasping.

"I'm not insane," Maurice said. "I understand the consequences of my actions. Pretending to be Fred is literally the only time I am able to interact with my niece and nephew. The few times I've sent them birthday gifts, Fred threw them away. If it wasn't for me, they wouldn't be born. Fred would probably still be a sad, lonely bachelor, unable to bring himself to fight for the things he want. He's willing to risk life and limb for others, but when it comes to his own needs... I wonder, what could he accomplish with you by his side?"

He grabbed Morse and manhandled him to lay flat on the couch. Morse fought, he struggled, and Maurice slapped away his hands like they were nothing. "No-!"

The tie was loosened and slipped off, thrown carelessly to the side. Maurice tried to undo the buttons on Morse's dress shirt. His fingers were too big and after a long frustrated minute on the third button, with a grunt, he fisted the shirt and tore it opened.

"Please-!"

Maurice grasped the sides of Morse's face, leaned in and-

The sound of the front door suddenly opening made him jump, and he quickly slapped a hand over Morse's mouth, muffling him.

"Dad, it's me!" It was Sam. "I came back to wash off some of the cologne. I'll be gone in a minute."

"Alright," Maurice said loudly over his shoulder. "Don't disturb Morse and I."

There was a shuffling noise going towards the hall toilet, and then a moment later the sound of water being turned on.

Tears poured down Morse's face, running over Maurice's fingers, dripping down upon the couch. Sam was so close. The toilet was literally only a few feet away. If Morse screamed loud enough, he could be heard. (Oh god, would Maurice hurt Sam? No matter how badly Morse wanted out, he would rather endure this for hours than endanger any of the children.)

In the end Morse did nothing. He laid there uselessly, listening to the water turn off a moment later. "Alright!" Sam cried out from the hall. "I'm going now!"

The front door opened and closed again. Maurice waited half a second longer, then pulled his hand away. Morse gasped and coughed.

"Ugh," Maurice muttered, wiping the tears off on Morse's jacket. "Now, where were we?"

"I'll hate him," Morse said desperately. "If you do this, I'll hate him by association. I'll leave and never return."

"Nice try," Maurice scoffed. "You're too loyal. It's quite an admirable trait."

He bent down.

The world around Morse was whirring in a blur, his ears buzzing with unknown noise, making him dizzy. The sound of his own sobs, the harsh beating of his heart, the rustling sound of clothes being removed was echoing off of each other. The inside of his mouth stung from the hot tea he foolishly gulped down. He could feel his mind dissasociating, pulling away from this moment, trying to save itself. He couldn't breath, he couldn't breath...

The front door opened again.

Maurice pulled away with grunt, slapping a hand over Morse's mouth again. " _Fucking_... Sam! Stop playing around and go! If you interrupt us one more time-!"

The door to the living room flew open.

Maurice jerked up and away so fast, his fingernails scrapped across Morse's cheek and upper lip, cutting into him. Maurice stumbled away, looking flustered, like someone caught him stepping out of the shower rather than attacking someone.

"Fred," he breathed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love how so many of you are anticipating Maurice's beatdown. XD
> 
> Warning: Mild gross blood stuff

"What did you drug him with?"

"A mild sedative."

"Mild?" Thursday echoed. "He can barely move."

Maurice held back, his eyes darting to the door. "He drank the tea too fast," he said. "It should've made him feel sluggish, not disable him."

"Morse? Morse, look at me."

It was disorienting, listening to Thursday and Maurice at the same time. If Morse closed his eyes, he could swear Thursday was talking to himself. Gentle hands cradled Morse's face, and he fought them, struggling to get away, his body still on high alert. "No..." he wailed tiredly, evading Thursday's touch.

"It's me, lad. It's me, I'm not going to hurt you."

Off to the side, Maurice took a single step towards the door.

Thursday didn't bother turning around. " _ **Don't. Move**_."

Maurice stepped back.

"Breathe, Morse, breathe. Control, breathe."

Morse was trying. He was just on the edge of hyperventilating, nearly heaving with every breath. It didn't help he was still crying, humiliation feeding into his shame and making him wish the earth would swallow him whole. A part of him wished Thursday didn't come through that door, didn't come home this exact moment because having him here, seeing Morse like this was worse than anything he's faced this day.

Thursday was patient. He kept at it, speaking softly, encouraging Morse to slow his breathing. After what felt like hours, Morse relaxed into the couch beneath him, exhaustion taking him down. He didn't know if this was the result of the drug or the adrenaline withdrawal. He wanted to nod off, let oblivion take him away.

"Morse," Thursday said, gently coaxing Morse to open his eyes. "I know you're tired, but I need you to stay with me. I have questions I need to ask."

Morse swllowed. "Yes... I... yes...?"

"Are you pain?"

Maurice made an objectable noise. "I didn't hurt him!"

Besides the small cuts on his cheeks and lips from where Maurice's fingernails sliced him, Morse was fine. "No."

"Are you sure?"

Thursday was gently prodding the small cuts with the pad of his finger. He was looking for a reason.

"Mmmm' fine," Morse said.

"Alright. Anything else?"

"I... thirsty."

Understatement of the century. He would kill for a glass of cold water right now.

"I'll get you some water as soon as I'm able," Thursday said. "I-"

He was interuppted when the door to the living room was gently pushed opened. Thursday twisted in his spot to see.

Morse stiffened.

"Win," Thursday said gently. "Go back into the hallway, you don't need to see this."

"I brought water," she said, stepping in further. She purposely kept her gaze trained on Thursday as she handed over the glass in her hand.

Without meaning to, Morse started to panic again. He struggled to move, to sit up and get Win out of here, away from Maurice's precense. She shouldn't be here, not in the same room as her attacker, not in the same room as _Morse_ , seeing him in this state. His shirt was wide open, there were bruises on his chest, his hair was desheveled, and he was sure his face was as red as a tomato. He wanted out, he needed to get away, to escape this fucking _room_ , away from Maurice, Thursday, and now Win...

Thursday placed a hand on Morse's brow, his palm cool from the water glass. "Calm," he said firmly. "You're okay... you're okay..."

Morse settled down. He was still miserable, but quiet. He'd temporarily forgotten his thirst.

Despite his fears, Win was not paying attention to him.

Without saying a word Win stepped right up to Maurice. She looked at him, unafraid, taking him in. Morse was pleased to see Maurice appeared to be unhinged by Win's scrutiny. After a long minute, Win huffed, stepped back and said, "You look nothing like him."

"I'll be in the kitchen," she said, moving towards the door. "Call me when that piece of filth leaves our home."

Thursday placed down the glass of water. "I might as well get this over with," he said, standing up. He moved around the table to fully face Maurice since first entering the room.

"You're not going to kill me," Maurice said quickly. He gave a small, nervous laugh, his confidence building behind that statement. "You'll only be hurting yourself, your family, Morse-"

The sound of Thursday's fist burying itself into Maurice's gut was like a jug of water falling to the carpeted floor. It was a dull, heavy noise as water from inside sloshed back and forth rapidly. Maurice doubled over, wheezing, dropping to his knees as he clutched his midsection in agony. Thursday's face was disturbingly calm as he watched his brother struggle to breath. There was no anger, no hatred, no digust presented. He stared at Maurice in the same manner someone stared at their watch, silently counting down the seconds.

"You're right," Thursday said, flexing his fingers. "I am not going to kill you. I would like to, very... very much. There was a time I had loved you, Maurice. I'm grateful for everything you've given me, for the moments we shared as boys."

"Fred..." Maurice gasped out, raising his arm in plea. "Fred... wait, I-"

Thursday struck forward again, bringing his knee up and smashing it against Maurice's face. There was a splatter of blood, and with a short cry, Maurice fell back, clutching at his mangled broken nose. Still gasping for air, he swallowed blood with every breath, making him choke. Every cough he gave, thick blood spewed out violently from between his fingers, staining the front and cuffs of his shirt.

"I am not going to kill you," Thursday said again. His fingers curled into fists. "But I _am_ going to make sure nobody _ever_ mistakes you for me again."


End file.
